


All That I Have (Alternate)

by orphan_account



Series: Midnight [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg's disappearance and Mycroft's suicide attempt have a profound effect on Sherlock and he struggles with his relationship with John.  Idiot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Out

Sherlock couldn’t get the image out of his mind. His brother, with a gun at his temple, seconds away from a certain death, sitting on the edge of the bed he shared with the DI. Is that the fate that awaited him and John? If he and his brother were so alike, is that how it would end for him if John were to go before him? Their lifestyle was dangerous and both liked it that way. Greg’s had been dangerous too, but not nearly as much as Sherlock’s and John’s, since Greg was afforded the protection of the Met and their mundane policies. He wasn’t as free as Sherlock or John to go traipsing about London on the heels of a criminal.

With Moriarty at his back, Sherlock felt he had no control. He loved John. Of that he was certain, as certain as he was that John loved him in return. 

He grew ever more distance from John and he knew John noticed. But John never questioned him on it. Perhaps he thought that this was Sherlock’s way of dealing with what had happened to Greg and his brother, and in a way it was. The heavy weight of despair and wondering “what if” for the two of them drew him into a depression of his own. He began to seek more and more time away from John, putting space between them. The only question to come from John during that time was a simple query if he was using drugs again. Otherwise, John remained the same and tried to give Sherlock the space to deal with things himself, knowing that pushing would only cause him to retreat even further and for the whole process to take even longer.

The months continued to drag by and then the night at the pool changed everything. Before him, dripping in the burden of explosives, was John, kidnapped and used by Moriarty to get to Sherlock. It was the last straw.

***

Three days after the incident at the pool, Sherlock stomped into the sitting room of 221B, squared himself in front of John’s chair and spoke the most he had to John in a few months’ time. “John, this isn’t working and I want you to move out. You can have until the end of the month, but I need you gone by then.”

John, looked up from his paper, mouth agape, eyes open wide from shock. He sat solidly still for a good minute before the words finally took hold and he threw the paper down onto the floor, with a rush to get out of the chair. He stood and faced Sherlock, shoulders straight, not backing down from the man despite their height difference.

“Excuse me, what?”

“John, I said I need you to move out.”

“Oh no, Sherlock. I heard that. What I didn’t hear was the reason why.”

“Yes you did. I told you this isn’t working out.”

“This. This isn’t working out? What isn’t working out, Sherlock? You’ve hardly spoken a damn word to me in months and when you do it’s “get out”? What the hell are you playing at?”

“John, I do hate to repeat myself. We, we are not working out. This arrangement is no longer suitable and I need you to go. Take whatever you need from our joint account to find yourself a suitable flat.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“You and Mycroft. Mycroft and Greg. What happened to Mycroft and Greg.”

“That has nothing to do with us. It is simply that what we have is no longer conducive to the Work, John.”

“Is it now? Fine, Sherlock. Fine.” Spinning on his heel, John headed to the door and grabbed his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Why do you care?” 

Sherlock stood at the window, heard the front door slam shut to the flat, and watched as the only person he cared about in the world disappeared around the corner.


	2. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tries to use reason to deal with his heart. You know the one he said he doesn't have.

Moriarty. Moriarty had cost him John. He couldn’t put himself and John in the same position as Greg and Mycroft had found themselves. He knew, without a doubt, that he and his brother were too similar and his reaction to John’s death would be the exact same as Mycroft’s to Greg’s. Maybe not as deliberate, with a gun to the head, but instead his fall would be slow, a descent into the creamy world of cocaine and heroin, until finally, he took his last hit and there would be no one there to rescue him - because everyone who would want to rescue him would have gone before him. 

So he pushed John away, with as much force as he had used to push his way through the door to Mycroft’s flat. He had to. John didn’t deserve it. Hell, John should never have fallen in with the likes of one Sherlock Holmes in the first place. He was an intelligent, ex-drug addict with a predilection for danger and no sense of self-preservation or humility. He was not a good man. John was. John was a war hero, a loving man who had genuine concern for those around him, patience, and a sense of morality that at times befuddled Sherlock. How could someone like John want him, despite the dangers? Didn’t he see what had become of their closest friends? Did he not see the same fate for them? It was only a matter of time.

Sometime the next day, John had returned to the flat and collected a few belongings and then disappeared again without a word to Sherlock. He’d been at Bart’s at the time. No one seemed to know where John had gone, or at least they wouldn’t tell him. He supposed that was fair play since he had all but evicted John from their shared spare.

His mind was settled that he had done the right thing for them both, but his body and his heart ached with a pain that couldn’t be soothed no matter what he did. Who could he turn to? Lestrade and Mycroft were still struggling to put their lives back together and the one person he had cared the most about he had forced out. Maybe he would turn to the drugs anyway. 

Without John there seemed no point in living, but at least John was alive. At least they both were.


	3. Echo (Alternate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John make up and decide to face Moriarty together but as it turns out, Sherlock is the first one to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do believe I have an evil streak. The alternate version still ends the same...no worries...we all know Sherlock returns.

Days passed.

He spent two of them on the sofa.

No John. He sent a text but no answer.

_Please tell me that you are safe. Please. SH_

It was on day four he realized that he could track John through the debit card on their account. At least then he would know that John was safe. He traced the transactions to Lindisfarne, a tiny little island just off the coast of Northern England, only accessible by a road that materialized out of the sea during low tide. Typical John. A small place, very small, where he could be surrounded by locals, but yet seek solace in the relative calm that encapsulated the island.

It was almost three weeks before John came home. He apparently gave it some thought that Sherlock could track him through the card on their account so he’d made a large cash withdrawal and that was that.

John was sitting in his chair when Sherlock returned from the Yard late one afternoon. It took Sherlock completely off guard as he hadn’t seen a clue on his way up the stairs that John had returned. John, on the other hand, knew the moment that Sherlock stepped foot into the flat and was ready for him.

“Sit down.”

“John…”

“Sit down, Sherlock.”

Sherlock crossed the room and took his place in his chair, facing John. He placed his hands on the arms of the chair, palms down, and crossed his legs. He caught John’s eye, raised one eyebrow, and sat in silence, waiting.

“I am not leaving, Sherlock. I’m not leaving the flat and I’m not leaving you.”

“John…”

“Shut up and listen. It’s not your turn to talk.”

Silence.

“I waited, Sherlock. Waited for months for you to tell me what was going on in your head. I waited for you to open up, in your own time. Instead, you told me to get out. I’m not stupid, Sherlock.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but closed it quickly once he saw the “shut it” look on John’s face.

“Look, I’ve figured it out. Sherlock Holmes is afraid that what happened to Greg and Mycroft will happen to us. I don’t know which frightens you more; that something will happen to me, or that you will take the same path as Mycroft.”

John paused, obviously giving Sherlock a chance to reply or refute what he said. Sherlock simply dipped his head towards his chest, a clear indication to John that he’d nailed the problem.

“I can’t promise you, Sherlock that I won’t die, just as you can’t promise me. But we can’t just give up on each other because of “what ifs”. We are partners, in every sense of the word. We are already dependent on each other, whether you want to admit it or not. No, you’ve already admitted it by trying to push me away.”

“Now, we can either do this together as we were before, or we can go back to just our friendship, but there is no way I am leaving your side. You need me, Sherlock Holmes. And I need you.”

Sherlock stared. Had he been that transparent? Is this what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his deductions? He felt like John had reached into his chest, yanked his heart right out, and was holding it up to the sun for the entire world to see.

John sat, calmly, not moving a muscle, waiting. He knew Sherlock and he knew it would take the idiot genius a minute to catch up with John’s reasoning, because it took him longer to decipher the emotional content.

If Sherlock were perfectly honest with himself, the last weeks had been miserable. He needed John, it was true. When he spoke, it was softly and hesitantly, in a tone John rarely heard.

“Mycroft told me once that caring is not an advantage. And he proved it. Look at what he almost did, because he thought couldn’t live without that idiot Lestrade. Moriarty is out for me, John, and I don’t want us to come to the same fate.” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts, so he could convey to John what he’d held in for so long.

“John, I know myself. I know that if Moriarty gets to me, it will be through you. I will not survive that, just as Mycroft could not survive Greg’s death. How can I let this continue, knowing that is a likely outcome?”

“First, Sherlock, I’m a willing partner in this. Don’t you think that I’d already realized Moriarty’s plan for you after what happened at the pool? No. Wait. Don’t answer that. I know you think I’m an idiot but how could you think I’d abandon you to that maniac? I’m not leaving your side, so now it’s up to you whether that’s as your lover or your friend, but it will be one or the other.”

John rose from his chair, and made to go out of the room, pausing briefly and turning back to face Sherlock. “Don’t say you couldn’t survive without me; you are the strongest man I know, Sherlock Holmes, capable of great things, surviving me is the least of what you can accomplish with that giant brain of yours. It is me that may not be able to survive without you.”

***

John watched Sherlock as he stood on the top of St. Bart’s, phone pressed to his ear.

“Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?

“Do what?”

“This phone call, it’s…it’s my note. That’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?”

“Leave a note when?

“Goodbye, John.”

“No. Don’t…Sherlock!”


End file.
